


of naps and not-temptations

by smudgesofink



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 12:58:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgesofink/pseuds/smudgesofink
Summary: “I could help you if you don’t mind.”Aziraphale blinks at him. “What?”“I mean, I. I could, if you, ah. With the nap, I could—“ Crowley clears his throat. He wills his body not to blush. “I could help you nap. If you want.”





	of naps and not-temptations

Despite having spent most of his millennia on Earth in human form rather than as the Serpent of Eden, Crowley still gets certain...snake-like urges, every so often. It is never an intense drive that forces him to do so, but there’s always a sort of deep satisfaction in his bones when Crowley gives in to the temptation.

And well, he _is _a demon. Giving in to temptation is just as much a part of the job description as delivering temptation, isn’t it?

So when he strides into the back of the bookshop and stumbles upon the sight of Aziraphale reclined rather comfortably on his couch, his coat shed and his shoes off, sleeves pushed to his elbows and his bowtie undone by his collar, Crowley stops and stares unabashedly until his angel looks up from the book he’s reading—or re-reading, Crowley takes note that it’s Wilde’s _The Picture of Dorian Grey _that Aziraphale is holding once more, come on, hasn’t he read that about a thousand times already—and sits up to greet him.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale says, not quite putting the book down. He looks a little distracted, as if Crowley had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. “I was wondering what time you’d come around. I suppose I was just, um.“

Aziraphale looks down and around himself, at a loss for an explanation.

It makes Crowley smirk. “Well, this is new. What exactly _are _you doing?”

Aziraphale sends him a look. “If you _have to know_, I was going to try to,” he hesitates for a second, and Crowley raises a teasing eyebrow, “to _nap_. I heard it’s good for you. But well, after a while of just lying with my eyes closed, nothing was simply happening and I thought I should do something more productive.”

“You mean you got bored.”

“However you want to call it.”

Crowley shakes his head, tamps down on the building smile on his face that feels just a little too overly smitten for his liking. He gives Aziraphale another onceover, takes in his less-than put-together appearance and how it makes him look even softer than usual, cozy and inviting, and the reptilian urge to slither up against his body, just curl up, lie there in his warmth, is strong.

“I could help you if you don’t mind.”

Aziraphale blinks at him. “What?”

“I mean, I. I could, if you, ah. With the nap, I could—“ Crowley clears his throat. He wills his body not to blush. “I could help you nap. If you want.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale blushes, but his smile is eager all the same as he nods, even going so far as to put Wilde down on the side table. There’s a sparkle in his blue eyes that Crowley can’t hope to ignore and that Aziraphale can’t ever be bothered to hide. “That would be lovely, my dear.”

(Sometimes, it gets too much. Aziraphale gets too much for him. Too beautiful, too achingly soft, this star-bright supernova liquid adoration that Crowley has flowing in his ancient veins whenever he is faced with the fact that this is real—that Aziraphale is here and that smile is because of Crowley, because Aziraphale loves Crowley back.

And Crowley doesn’t quite know how to deal with that yet without bursting into a million more constellations in his effort to understand, so Crowley does what he does best.)

“Alright.” Crowley throws off his jacket on one of the chairs and strides towards the couch, valiantly fighting off the heat he can feel on his face. Aziraphale looks up at him with blue doe eyes, smiling stupidly. “Scoot over, angel.”

Aziraphale does as he’s told, scooting back until there’s enough space for Crowley to sit by his feet. He watches with patient curiosity as Crowley takes off his boots and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt like Aziraphale’s before facing him.

“Go on, then,” Crowley says with a flap of his hand, and Aziraphale frowns in confusion.

“Go on with…what?”

With a roll of his eyes behind his glasses, Crowley pushes Aziraphale gently with a hand on his chest until the angel is fully laying back, blond curls pillowed firmly on the arm of the couch.

“Oh!” Aziraphale beams, already pleased with the small development. And then Crowley follows, slotting himself in the space between Aziraphale’s legs and crawling up the line of his body until he’s curled up on top of Aziraphale’s chest, head placed on Aziraphale’s collarbone, and their shins and socked feet tangled up with one another.

“_Oh_,” Aziraphale says again, just an echo of a breath. His arms come up from his sides, as if on reflex, to envelop Crowley. A hand finds itself reaching up to slide through hellfire-red hair. “Oh.”

_Temptation accomplished,_ Crowley thinks and swallows, barely restraining himself from melting completely. _Heavens_, but Aziraphale is so soft. _So_ _warm._ It’s like basking in sunlight. “Alright, angel?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale sighs. Crowley has never heard him so contented before, not even when he’s had that last bite of the tiramisu during dessert. The hand buried in his hair starts petting him, gently, and Crowley feels himself go weak-kneed even though he’s not standing. “This is wonderful, Crowley. Are you comfortable?”

“Yesss,” Crowley says, unable to stop the hiss from escaping. He could stay like this _for days._ “Now have your nap, Aziraphale.”

“Just one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

Crowley raises his head, stopping when Aziraphale carefully takes off his glasses to reveal yellow eyes. He blinks at the sudden shift in brightness and focuses on the enamoured expression on Aziraphale’s face.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes out, “there you are.”

There’s a moment between them where they stare at each other, Aziraphale’s blessedly blue eyes gazing into Crowley’s like he could spend an eternity doing so, and though Crowley may never understand, this moment, right here…it doesn’t feel like temptation anymore.

There is nothing demonic or sinful with how Crowley feels about Aziraphale.

And again, it’s too much, but Crowley couldn’t care less this time if he combusts. He pushes forward, closing the distance between them and brushing his lips against Aziraphale’s mouth for the barest of seconds. _Just let me have this_, he thinks, _just this once, just this one good thing._

Aziraphale is the one to come back for a second, proper kiss, and a third and a fourth, surging back again and again like the tides on a shore, always promising to return until Crowley is breathless and submerged in him.

And finally, Aziraphale places one last peck on Crowley’s mouth, humming as he settles back down, his hand petting Crowley’s hair mindlessly.

“Sleep, angel,” Crowley whispers, and it’s no longer a temptation.

When Aziraphale closes his eyes, Crowley does the same, and when he wakes, Crowley wakes up warm.

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> It is 1 AM again. I am posting a Gomens fic again. 
> 
> Send help.


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